Kauai, the oldest and northernmost of the Hawaiian Islands, is renowned for its rugged canyons, tropical beaches, and laid-back lifestyle. It also provided the lush jungle setting for the dinosaur epic Jurassic Park, in which the ancient beasts are brought back into the modern world through genetic science—with predictably chaotic results.
In reality, Kauai is teeming with living dinosaur relatives of Tyrannosaurus rex, and there is indeed a very real, and uncontrolled, genetic experiment underway. The tiny raptors are Gallus gallus domesticus, better known as chickens, and the island is overrun with them. Visitors are charmed by the antics of these familiar birds in this unexpected milieu, eagerly spotting them juking through the jungle greenery or cautiously collecting cabana crumbs. Locals regard them with disdain. They patiently explain that these are nothing more than fowl gone feral, an introduced irritation, escapees from local farms run amok in a relatively predator-free environment.
Local lore has it that island chickens escaped from their coops and cages in the chaos of Hurricane Iwa in 1982 and again with Hurricane Iniki in 1992. These free-ranging chickens began to breed with the local Polynesian birds of Indian origin. Subject to the forces of natural selection, hundreds of years of purposeful breeding were undone in a few generations. Now absent from the island are the fluffy Orpington, the noble Rhode Island Red, and the green-egg-laying Ameraucana. In their place thrives a diverse population of chickens that share both domestic and wild DNA, a comical rabble of recognizable farm animals and exotic avian majesty.
As so-called chicken-keeping experts, we were stunned and humbled by the spectacle of chickens by the thousands surviving, and indeed thriving, without the least bit of human care. Though we knew to expect the island birds, our first encounter with them was nothing less than a revelation, and seeing our first truly free-range, wild-breeding chicken on the lawn at the airport was a thrill (we’re easily thrilled). She was small, perhaps 3 pounds, sporting brindle plumage that flashed iridescent green in the low morning sun. We set down our bags and approached for a gleeful gawk. She stopped feeding on some invisible tidbit in the grass and turned her head sideways to take a skeptical glance at us. We silently admired her for a moment, noting how she resembled her wild ancestor—the jungle fowl of Southeast Asia. These forest-dwelling, low-flying birds were the genetic source material for today’s domestic chicken. This particular fowl was not in the least interested in our genetics, however, beyond identifying that we were some sort of large, chicken-devouring creatures with ugly feathers. We loudly fumbled for a camera, confirming for the small hen that we had some sort of malicious intentions, and she was gone in a tiny flash of green. We decided to name her Cluck.
At that very moment, back home on the mainland, our motley crew of plump, waddling hens would have been receiving their first visit from our well-paid chicken sitter. Our soft pets were no doubt abusing him with squawks about the perceived delay in food service or the lack of expected treats. “And another thing, whoever you are! The water is too cold! Please warm it before you go!” we imagined that Checkers, our constantly cranky boss hen, would have been demanding.
Cluck needs no such doting care to thrive. She lives a mostly healthy life that will likely be longer than most working farm hens—of a comparable span to those in our own urbane and demanding flock. Her nourishment is scratched up, nibbled, and hunted—or provided as a morsel forgotten by a careless human. She is free to wander as she pleases, at night roosting concealed among low palm fronds or perched upon the warm roof of a tour bus. To lay, Cluck will simply select a quiet spot and produce two or three smallish eggs that will hatch into smallish chicks. Together they will spend their days loitering at an outdoor mall or darting among hotel lounge chairs on a never-ending prowl for tiny bugs and dropped ice cream cones. They pose for occasional photos but are wise to keep a low profile, lest they end up on the menu.
“Maybe our hens could live like Cluck,” we mused that night. It seemed like a reasonable notion at 2 a.m. A Kauai-style, semi-feral flock would require less time and care, save us lots of money on feed, and provide the old girls ample opportunity for healthy exercise.
But such jetlagged musings were not so reasonable in the light of day. We knew that our Portland, Oregon, climate was relatively temperate but very cold compared to this island, with seasonal light and temperature changes that make food periodically scarce and stress unsheltered hens to the breaking point. Foraging alone, even in summer, would never provide the concentrated nutrition domestic chickens need to lay a good number of sizable eggs. And that’s not to mention the murderers’ row of local coyotes, hawks, and raccoons awaiting their opportunity to enjoy an easy chicken dinner.
We might not be able to simulate the relative easy life of a tropical climate with few predators for our own chickens, but we intuited that there was much we could learn from plucky Cluck and her chicks. Unlocking her secrets could help us improve how we feed our flock, better protect them from predators, heal our injured and sick, and work within their enigmatic pecking order to foster harmony.
Shortly after our return to the mainland, we learned of impending changes to federal regulations governing the availability of poultry medications administered via feed and water. Meant to discourage the overuse of antibiotics as a growth stimulator on commercial farms, the Veterinary Feed Directive (VFD) would also limit access to many remedies on which home chicken keepers rely as treatment for seriously ill chickens. Effective and inexpensive treatments for coccidiosis, various respiratory and gastrointestinal infections, and certain parasites would soon require an expensive trip to the vet, chicken in tow, to obtain and fill a prescription. We knew that these changes were sure to ruffle a few feathers but suspected that the impacts would be more far-reaching than most folks realized.
Cluck warily escorts her brood through a Hawaiian garden, always with an eye out for danger—or food.
Chickens on large commercial farms are usually maintained in as nearly aseptic conditions as possible to limit their exposure to disease and protect their fragile immune systems. They spend their short lives consuming a finely calibrated diet and may receive a variety of pharmaceuticals to treat disease. In stark contrast, Cluck and her friends on the island seemingly radiate good health despite, and because of, their decidedly more chaotic milieu. Their vitality starts with diverse and robust genes and is supported by a spacious and stimulating environment. Compelled to forage their food from a variety of plant and animal sources, they are constantly exposed to an astonishing diversity of immune-supporting—as well as challenging—microbes.
The life of an urban backyard chicken resembles both extremes in some respects, and the effectiveness of our care is similarly middling. For instance, typical coop and run maintenance practices reduce odors and can be effective at setting the “bad bugs” back, but they may never enable a favorable microbial equilibrium to become established. Over time, a proliferation of pathogens can remain in the soil for years, silently sickening and sapping the vitality of multiple generations of chickens. Similarly, providing organic feed supports sustainable agriculture and may limit our own exposure to toxins, but for our hens, without the stimulation and nutritional benefits of foraged food, it does little to enhance their vitality or that of our gardens. So, rather than resist the new regulations, we embraced them as a call for more widespread adoption of a comprehensive, prevention-based approach to caring for our birds.
As soon as we arrived home from Hawaii, our daughters made a beeline to the coop to reunite with their hens, stopping only to collect for them a welcome basket of plump worms on a bed of lush weeds from our organic garden. Our girls squealed with delight as their frenzied hens devoured the offerings, and we sighed contentedly, struck by the intimacy of our family’s relationship with our flock.
Admittedly, it’s not always such an idyllic picture. Our daughters have gone out to visit the ladies expecting a cheerful greeting from a favorite hen, only to find her cold and motionless in the corner—a death that might have been avoided with a few dietary tweaks during a heat spell. And neighbors have anonymously reported us for a loud rooster we’d kept a few weeks longer than planned.
We learn as much from our hens on these sad occasions as we learn when things are going smoothly; both situations provide feedback we need to tweak our approach to new challenges while trying to remain true to the values that first attracted us to keeping chickens. As we learn and evolve, so, too, do our customers at the Urban Farm Store, challenging us to aid their quest for effective and sustainable solutions for their small-scale chicken-keeping needs. What we all want is a fresh way of keeping chickens, one that honors both wild Cluck and domesticated Checkers.
Reflecting on our experience with the chickens of Kauai and what set them apart from our flock at home, it became clear to us that our own long list of seemingly individual problems with our chickens had a few common roots. Excluding pests and predators and keeping our hens where we wanted them were reasonable and essential goals, but the traditional methods of achieving them with fortified, immobile coops could potentially set the stage for serious behavioral, health, and dietary problems. It was as though our chickens were being kept in only two dimensions when they truly need a third to thrive.
We now realize that we, and you, can improve an overall home flock setup by making it more dynamic, so that our chickens can safely forage for food and scratch around, but when and where we want them to. Such a flock functions as part of a larger whole, as key performers in the dance of life that is an organic garden, where they are the grazers and recyclers of waste, harvesters and conservers of solar energy, and miraculous producers of fresh and nourishing ultra-local food.
This book, with a renewed focus on a prevention-based, organic approach to care, is for any chicken keeper, novice to advanced, who seeks better results from a more integrated approach to chicken husbandry. Some of you will try to adopt all of our recommendations. Others will read about a range of options that can help you reap as many benefits as possible without taking the big plunge and embracing the free-ranging, organic philosophy all at once. We provide plenty of tips for those who choose to keep their hens in a stationary coop.
Distilled in these pages are our twenty-five years of combined personal and professional experience keeping chickens and a map for our shared road ahead. We invite you to join us on the journey.
